How to Be an American Housewife - Margaret Dilloway [26]
“Friends.” He grinned. “Whatever you say, Shoko.” There was no disguising the hope in his eyes. I wondered if mine were the same.
MY MOTHER THOUGHT it was time for Tetsuo and me to get engaged. “You can’t run around with only him unless you’re engaged,” she told me. “Everyone will think you’re fast.” Needless to say, she didn’t know about Ronin.
Tetsuo made good money, and had been promoted to work at the front desk. Everyone thought he’d be a manager one day. My brain had to agree with my mother’s logic. It only made sense, though my heart sank when I thought of spending the rest of my life on this island. She arranged it all with Tetsuo’s parents, and we were officially engaged.
Then one day I arrived home from work a little early. I unlocked my door and saw Tetsuo’s face, eyes closed, poised above my prostrate roommate. It took a minute for me to realize what they were doing, since I had never seen it done before. “Aaaah!” I screamed. Yuki screamed. I left the apartment and ran down the street.
“Shoko, wait!” Tetsuo called from the apartment window. “It’s not what it looks like.”
The engagement was off. Secretly, I thanked Tetsuo. I was free again. Then I began my American phase.
Though I flirted with the Americans (all the better for tips), I never had dated one. Plenty wanted to. Of course they did; they were a bunch of young servicemen in love with Japan.
It wasn’t worthwhile for me. There was a ban on dating Japanese girls, effective for all ranks. Not that that stopped many. A girl, Mariko, who worked at the checkout desk did. She was two years older than me, with a long face and teeth a bit too big for her features. Still, she had a nice figure and a sweet laugh.
“She’s seeing a staff sergeant and a lieutenant,” Megumi, who worked with me in the gift shop, whispered. Megumi was a decade older, married to one of the lower-level managers, and the best gossip source in the region.
“Single guys?” I was doubtful.
“And they both want to marry her.” Megumi’s painted-on brows lifted in amazement.
“Pick the officer.” I laughed and dusted another figurine.
Mariko disappeared one day. She didn’t show up for work and no one was interested in finding her.
“What happened?” I asked Megumi.
Megumi shushed me. “She is not coming back.”
“Did she get married?” I asked eagerly.
Megumi waved her hand in front of her face, indicating no.
I understood. Mariko had gotten pregnant and left. Would her family take her in? What would become of her? Poor Mariko. This was not going to happen to me.
Then something surprising occurred. Mariko had been far from the only one dating Americans. Finally the military decided they could no longer ignore the “problem.” They decided to lift the ban on dating and marrying Japanese. Now, provided the Americans got all the proper documentation, they could fraternize with and even marry Japanese. Of course, the military made sure it was nearly impossible to navigate the paperwork maze.
“A thousand signatures by a thousand different officials are required,” Megumi remarked. “No one is getting married anytime soon.”
Nonetheless, it was legal, and therefore possible. None of these Japanese men were going to do anything for me. America is the way of the future, I reminded myself of my father’s words.
And Ronin? I couldn’t deny how handsome he was, or how nice. Or how he made me feel, all fine and intelligent and vibrating with life.
But there was no future with an Eta gardener. It would mean everyone I had ever known shunning me. My father would likely get banned from his church. Our family would be ruined, even if I left the country.
My father heard about the ban being lifted. The next time I visited home, he sat me down. “Shoko, this is your opportunity,” he told me.